How to Deal with the Clueless, Family, and Royal Pains
by Archangels United
Summary: We were in for a lovely trip. Really, what could possibly go wrong. Of course Aule really does enjoy laughing at me. And she is known to poison her fiancées. And he's a thief. And lets not forget him, the king without a kingdom, and my ability to make a fool of myself in front of my dad and uncle.
1. Chapter 1

I was wet and I was cold. Life and death experiences were _not _fun.

You see, there may, or may have not been a largish bee hive. And I may or may not have tried to knock it down with a stone.

Honey is very tasty after all.

Usually I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with any sort of projectile, but Aule must have thought to amuse himself that afternoon.

I did knock it down, only to remember bees can be nasty when disturbed. I don't always don't think these things through.

Needless to say I was running for my life. I ended up jumping in a river, but the bees seemed to wait for me to come out before continuing their chase. I, of course, was unaware of this when I climbed out of the river on the other side and was preparing to do my victory dance.

I was lucky I heard the buzzing. But instead of being smart and jumping back into the river, I decided I would run.

Which might have worked out for me had my left leg been in perfect condition at the time. It wasn't in case you were wondering.

However, I was in luck. While running, (or skipping, in fact, that may be a better description), I had a large stone wall in my path.

Or rather, it was a large stone wall. One side was taller than the other (relative to the ground). I was lucky to be on the side closer to the ground, and jumped over it.

I wasn't prepared to fall so far though.

I landed on my stomach, (Small blessings. I don't think my back could have taken it.) And all the air whooshed out of me.

I was dangerously close to some cow leavings.

And alarm bells started ringing, because few people have cows without one bull, at least. The bees had flown over me, only for me to be in a cow pen.

I leave you to fill in the blanks, but I will tell you I was left with several large bruises, and aching legs.

It took me another hour to find the path again.

It was almost nightfall. And, as I mentioned, I was cold and wet. I can't stand the cold.

I was holding on to the promise there would be a warm fire and good food, but my spirits were quickly falling as I failed to find the elusive hobbit hole.

I was about to cry when I noticed deep footprints. Dwarven foot prints.

I started whistling as I followed them.

They lead to some nice stone steps. And there was an open door where two people were being let in. I followed quickly, letting myself in as I noticed the host, (he was distinctly unprepared for the two dwarves in front of me) did not notice me as I hung my cloak up on one of the many hooks on the wall. The dwarves however gave all of their weapons to who I would later learn was Mr. Bilbo Baggins, a Halfling, from the Shire.

I recognized the blonde dwarf. His wife was an old friend of mine. And by my excellent powers of deduction I figured out who the other one was.

Fili and Kili, sons of Dis.

May the Valar help us.

They were quickly pulled aside by a largish dwarf. I wasn't really paying attention to who it was. None of them noticed me.

I am rather less than spectacular, I suppose.

The hobbit turned around and jumped a foot in the air when he saw me.

"Hello. May I help you?" He looked rather put out by the copious amount of water I was dripping on his floor. And the fact he hadn't seen me come in.

"Hils, at your service." I gave him a smile as I bent down to take off my muddy boots. I detected a large sigh.

"Bilbo Baggins at yours." He looked at me oddly.

I get that a lot.

"You look like you could use a towel and a warm fire."

"If it's not too much of an inconvenience."

Bilbo looked at the portal where there were noises of furniture moving, and then looked at me.

"I doubt one more inconvenience will matter." He looked rather crestfallen; I couldn't really help patting him on the shoulder. He flinched and then backed away slowly.

I made that sort of impression on people. Or it could just be I was wet and probably smelled really, really bad. (I tripped a few times in the field.)

"There's a washroom, with soap, down that hallway to the left. I hope you have extra clothes."

It must have been the latter.

"I do." I kept smiling and resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

He went to get me some blankets, and I headed towards the "washroom". It was a nice little room. Not spectacular, (a good match) but rather well equipped one. It even had a shower knob attached to a large wooden barrel. It was just my size.

Every part of my being wanted to take my time. Let the water soak away the aches and pains.

But Aule was apparently still in need of entertainment.

I had just stripped and turned the shower knob when a several large bangs echoed throughout the room. I may or not have startled and hit my head. Multi-lingual curses flowed through my lips with passion _I _didn't know I had.

"We have a bit of a problem here. You've been in there long enough." The voice was obviously dwarven.

Yeah, for a total of thirty seconds. I had barely closed the door.

"Give me two minutes." I had a minute; dwarven time goes faster when they're impatient.

I got clean in record time. I was lucky the stuff was mostly on my clothes and the soap was scented. Barely drying off, I opened my pack (it had oil on it to repel water) to find someone had snuck in a dress.

Curse the woman.

I dug further into my pack to find my extra traveling clothes, and to make sure nothing was missing.

There wasn't.

But there were a few extra things.

I didn't have time to explore the pack before the banging was back.

"We will break down this door."

Was someone dying?

I threw on my clothes. (Gracefully, mind you. Have you ever tried to put on breeches while wet on a slick surface, even when you're not in a hurry), I was sure someone must be dying. That was the only reason they could possibly have for disturbing me.

I was about to put my hat on when I noticed it still smelled bad.

I sighed.

I threw all my dirty clothes into what looked like a wash basin.

I cinched my belt, (I'd have to clean it by hand later) and opened the door to see about twelve angry dwarves glaring at me.

I counted.

Yep, it was twelve.

And then there was an old man with a pointy hat glaring at them.

They were evidently surprised to see me. Apparently, I wasn't what they were expecting.

They were staring at me. I turned right back around to grab my pack.

They were still there when I turned back around. They seemed to be in shock.

I guess I would have to go first.

"Hils, at your service, for those of you I haven't met." I gave as good a bow as I could with my pack in my hands, which is a pretty decent bow. (I've had more practice than usual lately.)

That got them started. They started murmuring to themselves as I made my way through the press to the front door, where I put my stuff down.

They would be gossiping until there was food, or someone got down to business.

Dwarves love gossip.

Especially when they don't know anything.

Those who do know me will probably keep their mouths shut.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around slowly, well slowly for me anyways. I have a tendency to make every action faster than is completely necessary. (I'm usually in a hurry.)

And it was with a sigh of relief that I turned to see the twinkling eyes of Balin.

Balin is the grandfather you never had, the teacher you wish would let you go outside, and the warrior you can't see.

A bit shorter than me, (And that's really saying something.) he has a sharp wit.

And he knows it.

"Well, let me look at you now," he grabbed my biceps and twisting me one way then the other.

He looked a bit displeased with what he sees.

"Have you been eating well, lass?"

I smiled.

"Of course."

Not. Times are tough. He should know that as well as anybody. Even jacks-of-all trades like me can't always find decent work. I can go without food for a while, but I can't stand the cold, so most of my money is spent on warm clothing. Or weapons, but that's a very different story.

"There's food in the kitchen, lass." He didn't believe me. Of course, he knew me as a young child, so he can be expected to know some of my tells.

I nodded and turned to go to the kitchen, but he kept a good grip on my arms.

I sighed again. I seem to be doing that a lot.

He mimicked me, but let go of my arms. He kept his eyes on me, trying to figure something out. I tried to resist the urge to squirm.

"Why are you here lass?" He asked.

Ah.

"Orim couldn't make it. He sent me."

His eyebrows rose to unimaginable heights, (even for him), and he crossed his arms.

I nearly stamped my foot. But that wouldn't help anything, but it might have gotten me thrown off the quest.

I was half tempted to do it for that reason alone.

I bent down to my pack again, opening a hidden, (and sealed), pocket. I pulled the two packs of letters out and handed them to Balin.

One pack was my recommendations, and the other was the summons from the king and an explanation from my cousin of why he couldn't make it, and why he sent me.

I'm not really sure about the last one.

I stood there as he read over the explanation first, (It was still sealed, though I was more tempted to open that than anything else in my life.) and ignored the summons (He probably wrote that). He handed me back the recommendations without reading them too. I gave him my questioning look.

"The letter tells me all I need to know." I shrugged and put the recommendations back in the pack, noticing he kept the letter from my cousin, Orim.

He steered me towards the kitchen, hands on my shoulders.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Did I say Ow?

The table was empty except for two dwarves.

I didn't know the younger one, but the female dwarf, I knew her quite well.

This was going to be a _lovely _trip.

Balin pushed me into a seat across from them, before taking a seat at the head of the table, as usual for the oldest, (or highly ranked, but even they usually give up their seat to the oldest), leaving me to fend for myself.

The younger one looked like he had barely come of age, and he thought I was going to eat him.

He was at least a hand taller than me.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I really did.

The woman noticed her "attentive" audience was looking like a rabbit, and followed his gaze to me.

I was surprised with how high she could jump.

Twyla was a rather tall dwarf, beautiful by dwarf standards.

Long hair, magnificent beard, and curves in all the right places.

I absently rubbed my clean jaw. Balin noticed and raised his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes at him.

He sent me a warning look.

"Lash, what happened to your hair?" Confound the woman. I had hoped no one would notice. Balin hadn't said anything, of course he was known for being polite to a fault.

I kept my face locked into a smile.

"I go by my given name here."

She looked very regretful.

"I'm sorry; I've been calling you Lash for too long."

"Hils."

She wasn't being rude; the girl has the worst memory in the world. I'm surprised she remembered I was sometimes called Lash, even after living together for five years, and occupying the same area for most of our lives. I quickly changed the subject.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were about to marry what's his name."

"He died, was eating dinner, had a heart attack and fell into his soup."

"Mushroom?"

"How did you know?"

Twyla had the misfortune of a mean and greedy father (And unfortunately very, very powerful). Constantly in debt, the creditors usually found themselves engaged to Twyla in recompense. They all then died mysterious deaths. Everyone was sure she just had the worst luck in the world.

I knew better.

In spite of forgetting nearly everything else, she was a talented healer with in depth knowledge of many natural remedies.

And, of course, poisons.

Even if anyone discovered she was behind the deaths, no dwarf would blame her, arranged marriages were thought of as undignified, and most fathers were considered dishonorable if they made that sort of agreement.

Females are very rare and held in special regard among dwarves. Even a fair court would say she had the right to defend herself.

"So, quest?" I tried to get her to focus and distract myself from laughing at the smirk on her face. She was probably not the best person to annoy.

"Oh," She jolted back to the present. The last fiancée must have been especially annoying. "I'm here under Oin for a basic knowledge of the apothecary, and to learn how to care for battle wounds. But with you here I don't think I'll need to."

I rolled my eyes. "You're going to have to learn one of these days."

"Says who?"

I then rolled my eyes at her and turned to the lad next to her. Though she wasn't at the door when I got out of the washroom, he most certainly was. And his hair was wet.

There must be an interesting story behind that. Because obviously, from the lack of copious amounts of blood, no one was dying, so there must be another reason why eleven dwarves were in dire need of a washroom. (A rare occurrence, I assure you)

I waited for him to give me his name, as was proper. I had already given him mine. Twyla, noticing the fear on his face, leaned over and whispered to him.

I was sure it was along the lines of "She doesn't bite."

Liar. I do bite. But I probably wasn't going to bite him.

He swallowed and visibly gathered his courage before stuttering out,

"Ori, at your service."

My face broke into a large grin.

"You're Nori's little brother."

He nodded, torn from being disturbed that I knew his brother, and awed that Nori had talked about him.

"Last time I saw him, he said you worked as a bit of a scribe and a bit as a librarian."

He nodded, looking more comfortable by the second.

"What do you study?" Scribes were usually known for one area of study, but had general knowledge of almost everything else.

"I'm not sure yet. I like drawing, but I would really like to study languages." He was confident with this subject.

"There's a good career in either of those. What languages do you want to learn?"

"I need to work on my Khazdul, a lot of the manuscripts were ruined in the fall of Moria and Eridor, and so I need to find a good teacher. But I am very interested in learning…." He trailed off looking embarrassed.

I made sure no one outside the room was paying us any mind, before I spoke.

"_Do you want to learn Sindarian or High Elven?" _

His mouth dropped open. I continued to speak, though in common.

"It is very useful for trade and what not. However, I doubt you would be doing much of that. Spying and diplomatic talks would be considered a good reason to learn."

He was still gaping at me.

I cleared my throat, that didn't work.

Am I just that shocking? This could get annoying really, really fast.

"You're catching flies."

I would like to say _I _wasn't the one to say that to the poor lad.

The person, who said that, was the scariest dwarf I had ever seen.

Well dressed, hair neatly braided and a dignified manner that spoke of an arrogance of the well-learned, paid, and mannered.

I'm always afraid to offend these people on our first meeting. I don't like making enemies of people before I know them, and people who judge on appearance and mannerisms are hard for me to make a good impression on.

If I fail, I fail, but I have to at least try.

He first introduced himself to Twyla, (Surprise, surprise) and then he turned to me.

I could tell he was just as uncomfortable with me as I was with him. And not because he thought he was better than me.

I instantly relaxed and smiled at him.

He didn't smile back, but he relaxed a bit.

"Dori, at your service." And then he gave the most magnificent bow I had ever seen. I was in a state of awe; I wanted to know how to bow like that. I was about to stand up and applaud.

I'm sure this showed on my face, because Twyla burst into giggles and Dori looked very pleased with himself. Ori even had a smile on his face.

He sat down between Twyla and Ori.

"I'm sorry; I was in a bit of state when you introduced yourself." I kept smiling.

But it was hard.

"Hils."

"Ah, I think I've heard of you. There were some refugees that came to the Blue Mountains about twenty years back, accompanied, and protected apparently, by someone named Hils."

I am afraid I sputtered and then choked for a moment. I had thought no one would remember that.

Rather hoped. I wasn't ashamed of doing what I did, but there are a few things that happened along the journey I would prefer not to be reminded of.

Ever.

Ever, ever

Never, ever, ever.

A hand reached over and hit me on the back. Barely missing the damaged part of my back.

"Who told you that?" I didn't pay attention to the dwarf who had hit me on the back and sat beside me. (It couldn't have been anyone but a dwarf; I would have a yet another bruise for a couple of weeks.)

"A young girl by the name of Nane. And Nori mentions a Hils every now and then." The dwarf sipped some tea. I looked around. When did the food get here?

And there was ale.

I really, really wanted some ale. I wouldn't have cared if it was watered down and tasted like old lake water. Alcohol in any shape or form would have been lovely. My back, legs, head…. Actually there wasn't anything that didn't hurt. And alcohol would at least take the edge off.

I was about to reach for an unclaimed pint when the person next to me grabbed my wrist.

It was Bofur.

Curses.

I glared at him for a moment, and then after the previous indignity, he laughed at me.

But his eyes held promise of swift consequences if I dared to touch a drop of alcohol.

I was considering pouting; I really was, when someone sat a drink in front of me. It was black, piping hot, and smelled unbelievably delicious.

I was going to worship whatever being decided to gift me with this magnificent miracle.

It was Nori.

Ehh, maybe not.

But I did nearly spill the drink, (I know, sacrilege.) knocking him over with a hug.

"Oi, I brought it. He just made it!" Bofur said standing behind me.

He got a hug too.

But both were quickly forgotten as I sat back down, and took a slow sip of heaven.

It was disgusting.

Someone had put salt in my drink.

And by the cackles behind me it was probably Bofur and Nori.

They were going down.

But not until we finished eating, I would have time on the trail to get them back.

I glared at them as they sat down, holding their sides. Ori was holding up a piece of paper that contained my horrified expression. Lad was a decent artist and quick as well. I had become distracted, or this had been planned.

I scowled at Ori.

Nori hit me upside the head, and Bofur flung his arm over my shoulder.

Pain. I switched my glare to Bofur.

"You do realize you have just declared war upon _me_?"

"That is what we call _revenge._" Nori said looking very smug and all knowing.

"What did I do this time?" I hadn't done anything, that's what. But I was going to hear their imaginary grievance. It ought to be good.

"You left us, who you claim friendship with, who you have traveled with, and who have shared their bread with you, when there was little to be had, to a fate worse than death."

I had forgotten about that. It was entirely true. I was cowardly; I was weak; I abandoned my friends. There could be no forgiveness from this impossibly horrendous crime.

I had left them to deal with Dis.

"Would you accept eternal servitude?" I asked, voice muffled because my head was in my hands.

Bofur clucked his tongue at me, and I sensed Nori shaking his head.

"I don't think you understand." Nori explained, as if to a child. (Which, I suppose, I might as well be according to him.)

"You left us with the _Queen_ of_ Terror_ herself. Instead of going about our daily business and enjoying some much earned freedom, we were forced to not only meet the royal family, but were also forced to work with the council when it came to the feeding and housing the refugees. By the time everything was settled, we were unable to return to our life of obscurity. _Do you know what that's done us?"_

I could imagine. And the image was not pretty.

"We have forgiven you, being the kind, merciful souls we are."

Uh oh. This wasn't going to be good.

I tried to shift under Bofur's arm. It really was hurting, but he must have thought I meant to escape. (Which I would have, if I thought I could, or if I didn't have to spend a lot of time with them in the near future.) He tightened his grip.

More Pain.

"However, I am afraid our traitorous tongues slipped, when the Lady Dis and our good King asked who the refugees called Lash was."

"No." I whispered.

"Oh, yes. Seeing as we do not actually know your ancestry we were unable to give them that, but we did give them a good description of your esteemed person."

Not good. Not good at all.

Bofur looked at me strangely.

"There's something different about you."

I quickly grabbed a roll and stuffed my mouth. The table was filled with food by that point, and crowded with dwarves. Nori was luckily distracted by someone else, and didn't hear Bofur's statement. But I still had to deflect Bofur.

"Why did you all need the washroom?"

He looked at me, letting me know he knew I was up to something, and was going to let it go _for now._

I just gave him my innocent look, which, I'll have you know, is rather hard with a stuffed mouth.

But it got him laughing again. And he started talking to a...um, heavy dwarf.

I think it was his brother, Bombur.

There wasn't much to tell about the rest of the meal. People walked on the table, burped and threw food. They sang a song while annoying the hobbit. (Dis' sons would have had a hiding if she saw them, and I knew Fili's wife would have a hissing fit.) I only knew five dwarves personally. The rest I knew from brief meetings or general descriptions. Names wouldn't be a problem. However, the old man confused me.

I got up to get some water, (Nori and Bofur were being really strict about the alcohol thing.) while the rest of the dwarves laughed at the poor hobbit, (I gave him a pat on the shoulder as I passed, he just flinched, again.) and was passing the old man when he greeted me.

"Hils, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're a polite one." There was a question hidden in the statement. But I had no clue what it was.

"I don't know what else to call you."

Hint, Hint.

"You may call me Gandalf."

Gandalf, Gandalf, Gandalf. I had heard that name before.

Radagast had mentioned him, I believe, after he ran me over with a pack of rabbits.

Not my proudest moment.

But he had said Gandalf was the name of another wizard. Aule must really like laughing at me. I was better off not knowing. Ignorance is bliss, and all that.

I had enough problems without a wizard's meddling. My brand new shiny goal was to avoid him as much as possible.

"Well, pleasure meeting you." I smiled and was about to walk away when loud (and rather rude) banging was heard throughout the house (Hobbit Hole?).

"He is here."

I think we could have figured that out, Gandalf.

And I never did figure out why they needed the washroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the follows. **

**AU**

_The Journey Begins_

Some actors could take lessons from Thorin Oakenshield.

Not that I thought he was putting on an act. That man was sincere to a fault.

He was just very dramatic.

My first impression of him wasn't wonderful. And this meeting didn't do him any favors.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar." Great way to inspire confidence and loyalty, your Highness.

Most of the group chuckled. All but Ori, Twyla, and I.

If burglars looked like burglars there wasn't any possibility of them burgling anything, now was there?

Thorin then went into the room we had been eating in. He sat at the head of the table.

I didn't care if he outranked Balin, he should have given the seat to him.

Dwalin seemed to agree, but said nothing. I sat in the very back, next to Ori.

The meeting was a bunch of talk really. There's a dragon. He took a mountain full of treasure, and chased good dwarves out of their home. My uncle and dad were chased out of the mountain, so in no way was I apathetic to the story. But, there were too many grand speeches. I have heard quite a few speeches and have almost never seen them followed through. It was a simple plan in itself. Or it seemed simple.

Goal: Kill dragon, get gold, and give dwarves back their home.

A good straightforward plan. We even had a way to get in the mountain. (Secret of course. Wouldn't work if the dragon knew about it, would it?) We even have a map! Not that anyone could actually read it. However there seemed to be something everyone seemed to be missing. I'm not one to worry about things until the last moment, but this seemed kind of important.

Problem: The slaying of the "furnace with wings".

And by his avoidance of the subject I believed it was safe to assume our 'wizard' doesn't seem to have any experience in the area either.

Though he seemed to have a semi-decent plan. Actually, a plan, which is more than I can say for anyone else. I was beginning to think he may be the brains behind the whole operation.

I was cataloging in my head what we would need. Well, what I would need. I was rather confident the other dwarves, having beards (obviously showing great wisdom) and a good twenty years on me, _at least, _would know how to prepare for a journey. *Snicker* I was positive some of them would be doing without or trading with other dwarves by the end of the week.

(What can I say; you get a little cynical traveling as much as I do. And quests seem a little frivolous, when the majority of your traveling is to avoid angry dwarves, men, or starvation. Or all three.)

But that was when I heard something incredibly stupid.

"Yep, you would need a pretty good one. An expert probably."

Bilbo was a bit slow on the uptake apparently.

That led to some very awkward questions, some very fierce denials, and the wizard claiming himself wiser than the entire group.

He might be right considering the goal of this quest and all the icky nasties we might meet along the way. Oh, and the dragon hording the large pile of gold that makes everyone obsessive. (Don't get me wrong, I like gold. However, I find it causes more problems than it fixes. Wizards are a lot like that.)

Of course he did support this quest.

And I was going to join it. What does that say about me?

It says I really need to listen to the logical part of my brain, and not the part that said "You'll get rations. Food. Maybe even twice a day" or "You actually get to travel with your da and uncle" and does a little victory dance.

And that part of me that was ridiculously loyal to the king who took in several refugees on a moment's notice. Even if he was a bit of a bully.

I watched with interest as Bilbo was handed a contract.

Balin probably wrote that. That poor hobbit.

Because unc…, ahem, Balin doesn't simply state 'death' or 'injury' in his contracts. He actually lists all ways you are expected to perish or the different wounds you could get.

I once read a contract for the royal cook that listed 'death by spoon'. Though that's not exactly unheard of; A few generations back a dwarvish prince got in a snit and was throwing cutlery around the dining room and a heavy wooden spoon hit a cook's temple. He was killed instantly. Most of the royal line don't use cutlery to this day, in shame of their ancestors behavior.

"Laceration, incineration?"

Bofur couldn't resist the urge help.

"Think of it as a furnace with wings."

Hey! Back off, that's my line.

The poor hobbit looked quite faint.

"Searing pain and then 'poof' you're nothing more than a pile of ash."

It took a few seconds for the hobbit to collect himself, and then promptly faint.

Gandalf moved him and then the king started looking around. He was obviously looking for someone in particular, and he was counting as he went.

He briefly smiled at Twyla, again a huge surprise. He went around the table, eyebrows furrowed. I don't think he noticed me.

"Where is Orim?"

"I am here for Orim." I had several eyes snap to me at once.

I'm not going to tell you the details of what happened next.

You can ask someone else about 'pumpkin' incident.

*0*

I was up several hours before dawn.

And I was sore.

But I wasn't the only one who would be sore.

It took a lot of effort not to cackle.

Almost everyone was asleep. In fact, I thought everyone was asleep, until a heavy hand was placed on my shoulder, and I felt myself steered towards the door.

Though I didn't see the dwarf in question, I had a pretty decent guess about who it could be.

I wasn't looking forward to it.

I was pushed, (and not gently, mind you) out the door in to the frigid predawn air.

I slowly turned around; I had to remind myself not to flinch. It wouldn't do me any favors.

I felt Dwalin's eyes bearing down on me. I met his stare. I wasn't as stubborn as him, but I was going to at least try and win the staring contest.

He sighed.

"Drunken blond Oliphant?"

Yes, Fili and I had a lovely relationship. It started when he threw me into a well and I dragged him down with me. Good times, Good times.

"Not your best insult, lass."

I shrugged. I had used up most of them on Gloin.

"Insulting their parentage usually gets better results."

I nodded,

"I always feel uncomfortable doing that."

Dwalin waited for me to explain.

"I feel like it's overused. And _I _certainly have no room to talk. There are more interesting ways to insult someone, even if it does take longer."

Change the subject, da.

"The younger prince is going to have a nasty bruise on his face."

"_I'm _going to have nasty bruises on my ribs and arms." I was just lucky no one hit me on the back.

"You deserved the ones on your ribs."

No comment.

"Will you be able to ride today?"

Is this actually concern?

"I won't have you slowing us down. "

Spoke too soon.

Focusing on something besides the disappointment, I asked-

"We'll be riding?"

He nodded.

"Faster than walking."

Thank you for telling me, I wasn't aware.

"I would like an explanation for your hair."

I winced.

Hair, especially for dwarves, but even for men, is a symbol of status. Having short hair, for females, usually means sickness or, um, a less honorable trade. In dwarven society, it is the ultimate shame for someone in your family to have short hair. If it is a female, it shows that the men in the family cannot or have not taken care of them.

"Did you cut it?"

Ah, right to the point. Let's not dance around the subject.

"No."

"Were you ill?"

"Yes, but that's not why it's short."

"Enlighten me."

He's using Balin's vocabulary. He's really trying to understand.

"Someone cut it."

I watched him stiffen. It was the ultimate insult to the family, to me. I didn't even attempt to lie. There is no covering stuff like this up.

"Who?"

"If I see him again, I'll tell you."

"Did he do anything else?"

I smirked.

"He certainly tried."

That evoked a smile from him.

"When this quest is over, you are going to be within running distance at all times, do you understand?"

I snorted. A new skill, I used it for special occasions.

"I would drive everyone with a league mad. I can take care of myself."

He rolled his eyes.

"In a fight, maybe. I am still reserving judgment on that account. But when was the last time you ate a decent meal?"

"Last night."

He stared at me. I tried not to fidget.

"You ate a biscuit, some broth, and a cake. All of which you threw up once everyone was asleep."

Gandalf was going down, as was Balin.

"My stomach is a bit sensitive right now." And has been for a while.

"Will it affect travel?"

Probably.

"Absolutely not."

"No one will be coddling you on this journey."

Thank you for that vote of confidence.

"I have some experience traveling; most likely more than some on this company." I said mildly.

"I don't doubt with that." He looked back at the hobbit hole, and then his gaze settled on me.

"Balin said you knew the blonde creature."

"So do you. That's Twyla. She's Hatle's niece."

He frowned.

"And Hwyl's daughter, I take it."

Not the best family connections on a quest.

As much as I hated to do it, I had to at least be honest.

"She's a good deal more useful than her father."

He snorted.

"Not very hard, that."

A truer statement was never spoken.

"Is she loyal to her father?"

"I highly doubt it. She only goes back to live with him when she needs money."

"A habit you need to cultivate."

"I'm not going too, though."

"You don't want to live with us?"

"I do, just not just for funds, and besides, it was made very clear I was not welcome anywhere near the Blue Mountains last time I went."

"By who?"

I was about to answer when we were joined by Kili. A nice black bruise prominently displayed on the left side of his face.

I smiled, I was an _artist._

He, being the spoilsport he is, poked me in the ribs.

And Dwalin, being a nasty traitor, just laughed.

"Can't go back to sleep."

"You have my sympathy." I said. It was a bad way to start a journey.

He looked confused for a moment. Then gave me a small smile.

"You're a bit different than Fili described, not much," He winced as he touched his cheek, "though."

"What can I say, in-laws."

Dwalin looked very confused. Kili got it though.

"Millie mentioned you, your-"

"HILS!"

"That would be my brother." Kili smiled.

"Why does he automatically think it's me?"

"Was it you?" Dwalin's face was a funny combination of curiosity and resignation.

"Of course it was, but there is no need to assume."

"What did you do?" Curiosity won out on Dwalin's face, as several dwarf curses echoed through the hobbit hole. Dwarves don't like being woken before dawn.

I don't like having pumpkin guts in my hair.

And apparently neither does Fili.

*0*

I was in the front of the column, where Dwalin could keep an eye on me. Kili was in the middle of the column where Balin could keep an eye on _him. _

That didn't stop us.

About a mile from where we started, I felt something hit the back of my head. My first thought was that an acorn or something fell from a tree.

But two minutes later it happened again, and again and again.

I turned around, but Dwalin grabbed me and turned me to face forward again.

But not before I saw Fili and Kili smiling, immune to the glares of Balin, Nori, and Bofur.

Thank you for glaring at them, because we all know stopping the royal pains would be too much to ask.

I looked at Dwalin mulishly, he glared back.

Fine.

Plink

_Be the better person._

Plink.

_Ignore them._

Plink.

_They are going to die._

"Wait, Wait, I signed it!" Bilbo was running towards us with the contract waving behind him like a kite.

He was clueless.

What in the world could he be thinking? I mean really, did he have a death wish, epiphany, some bad meat? What?

Of course, he would be useful, I didn't doubt that. (He had just saved the princes from certain death.) But he really had no idea what he was getting into.

"Everything looks to be in order. Welcome, Master Baggins to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

This could be considered negligence; the poor hobbit was clearly insane. Anyone could see that. This was not the time for him to be signing contracts.

I hope he has no relatives to avenge him.

"Get him a pony." No grand speeches, or a "thank you for saving my nephews from certain deaths", your majesty? Just a rather rude, _get him a pony._

I could sense tension in the air.

"No, I can walk. Several long walking trips." I tried not to laugh as the poor hobbit was lifted onto a horse by the minor annoyance and his brother.

The trip went on for a few minutes without any sort of disturbance.

I'm going to build a shrine to it one of these days.

"Wait, we have to turn around!"

This was going to be going to be good.

"I forgot my pocket handkerchief."

I spent the next two minutes trying not to laugh. Because I knew Aule would get me back for it.

"I found these in my home, do they belong to anyone?"

Huh, apparently Aule counts laughing inwardly.

I turned around to see Bilbo holding a small tin.

My medicine holder, specially designed so no one else could get in it.

"That would be mine." I said turning my pony around.

Only to see Fili grab the tin from Bilbo.

And Nori grabbed it from Fili, and threw it to Bofur, who kept it.

He smiled at me, and I groaned.

Life was not going to fun from now on.

I turned back to go on.

And then there was

_Plink._

The hobbit was not going to save them again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright, thank you for the follows! This chapter deals more in back story and information than in humor. It is important to the plot, and will be relevant to the end of the story and sequel, but it is slightly depressing. I did a companion piece to this called Life Lessons from Dealing with the Clueless, Family, and Royal Pains. It was just be a series of lists I think up that will be relevant to this story, but not needed to understand it. It was just removed, sadness. I'll try to repost in a different format. As in a Non-list way, as to avoid future removal. **

**I send cookies to all readers.**

**AU**

**Chapter 3**

It is usually a good idea, when riding a pony, to have a layer of fat between your tailbone and a saddle.

I, having ridden a pony once, (horrible experience, may be scarred for _several _lifetimes) and was hoping to never repeat the experience ever again.

Alas, it was not to be.

I thought the first day, I was only _slightly _uncomfortable.

The next morning, I was considering committing suicide.

It looks easy. All you have to sit there. I am still wondering how the muscles I use to walk refuse to work after a day on the dratted beasts of burden.

Anyway, it was the morning after the first day of the journey. I seemed to be the first one up. (No surprise, someone really needs to drug me in situations like these.)

And I was going to cry before even getting up, because I couldn't straighten my legs.

Finally, after several silent curses, fervent prayers, and choked back sobs I was able to sit, and then stand.

At least there was no one awake to see that embarrassing display.

"Morning."

Spoke to soon.

I jumped up several feet in the air, further injuring my abused thighs, and twisted around to see Gloin trying not to laugh.

I felt a rush of warmth towards the man, because I know people (Fili) who would just have burst out laughing.

Of course he may have just been trying to be quiet for the people sleeping.

He waved me over to the little circle of ash that used to be a fire. I sat down next to him.

"Ya look like death, woman."

Must not kill. Must not kill.

"You tell that to your wife, Gloin?" Mere curiosity in my tone, and maybe a touch of disbelief.

He chuckled.

"Do I look dead? I think we are past the point where we politely lie to each other."

Wait, was he the one that….

Oh.

I rubbed my ear and yawned.

"Sorry about that by the way."

He smiled at me, seeming inordinately pleased with the apology.

"Probably deserved it." He said, as if that would erase what happened.

"Nope, you _did _deserve it."

"Ya don't let stuff go, do ya?" He looked at me, and it was a very odd look.

"I actually make a point of it."

There was a somewhat awkward silence. When Gloin shifted, I tried to strike up the conversation again.

"I heard you have a son."

"Gimli, he's about forty." He seemed proud, as he should be.

"Ahh, does he have red hair like yours by chance? And brown eyes?"

"Yes, do you know him?"

"I've seen him around. Is your wife the woman with dark hair and green eyes?"

"She is."

It was my turn to shift uncomfortably. She was in the group that used a hyped up charge to get me kicked out of the Blue Mountains.

Gloin must have realized how uncomfortable I was, (I'm not sure if he knew why) and changed the subject.

"Why do ya carry a shovel?"

"Deadly useful things, shovels." I started chuckling as he looked doubtfully at my shovel.

"It's not much to look at."

"Neither am I."

He smiled at that, chortling softly. While he lit his rather elaborate pipe (could probably sell it and put down payment on a house with the money), I looked around.

Bofur was propped against Bombur, the poor man didn't like keeping people up with his snoring, and often slept upright.

Nori was tightly griping his knife in one hand, with his arm thrown over Ori. Dori's arm crossed Nori's over Ori.

Fili and Kili might have even looked sweet curled up next to each other.

Who am I kidding, they were adorable.

Thorin was sleeping next to a tree, near Fili and Kili, and I had no idea where my uncle and da were.

"Where's Balin and Dwalin?" I asked Gloin. He gave me a sad shake of the head before answering my question.

"Ya have no respect do ya?" He asked.

I do. But though I had to call my uncle and da by their given names, but I wasn't going to do any more than that.

"They went to sit by the ponies with Master Baggins and Oin." He said pointing towards a group of trees where our ponies were hidden.

I'm not really sure why we hid the ponies, to be honest.

"And the blonde one went to find some water." He tried not to snort.

"She forgot the buckets, didn't she?"

"I somehow doubt she was going to actually get water."

I nodded before grabbing the two huge buckets Twyla had neglected to bring with her on her search for water. She probably was just planning on washing up, but protocol usually dictates people who go to find water _bring some back._

I listened to the silence, before I heard faint splashing coming from the far end of the few trees.

"Be back in a little bit."

He grunted still chuckling.

What a merry fellow, even if he does have a worse temper than mine. (Again, ask someone else about the pumpkin incident.)

I ended up talking to Twyla, well lecturing, before heading back to the campsite with two large buckets of water.

After I gave them to Bombur, I went to pack my sack. (That's right, I can rhyme, just one of my many talents.) Almost everyone was up and ready to go by the time I finished, Twyla had even come back from the little stream, and had packed before going.

However, the little princes had yet to wake up. Thorin was just going to leave them, but I felt that a bit _too _cruel.

So as everyone was mounting their ponies, I offered to get rid of the water. And they let me, Ignorant dwarves.

I checked it to make sure it was sufficiently filthy, and then I threw the first bucket on them. When I was sure they were awake and sputtering, I threw the second bucket on them.

I took advantage of their blindness before scrambling on to my pony, which I had made sure, was very close at hand while being a believable distance from the scene of the crime.

The only problem was neglecting the mud on my boots, and the fact everyone in the group was a traitor.

*0*

I ended up in the back of the column this time, next to Gandalf. I wasn't particularly thrilled, but I wasn't unthrilled. Content may have been the best way to put it, especially seeing that the princes couldn't do anything at the front of the column.

The group dynamic was very interesting, seeing how no one was really going out of their circle of family and close friends. Twyla, Bilbo, and I (my family was at the front of the column, and only two of them knew I was family) were sort of at loose ends, so to speak. Twyla was looking around at the scenery, and probably going over the herbs she had, and what herbs she could easily collect and how to catch the eye of her teacher. (I have no idea why, the man probably has sixty years on her _at least_ and is as deaf as a post. I couldn't talk, the man I had my eye on was eighty-five years older than me.) Oin would have no clue what hit him.

Bilbo was nearly bursting with curiosity. He was watching the scenery with avid interest, and if the dwarves ever burst into song, which they did often, he would close his eyes and focus on the music. He often asked questions on dwarvish culture, but he rarely got a reply.

But today he was in the middle of the column with Bofur, who really loves to hear his own voice, and has little caution about what he says.

So he finally got some answers.

I got some kicks out of their conversation, and Gandalf seemed to enjoy eavesdropping as well.

"Would you mind telling me everyone's names again? I seem to have forgotten a good many of them." Bilbo asked as Bofur was lighting his pipe.

I really need to have more patience with people who have bad memories.

"Well lad, up front is our majestic leader himself, Thorin Oakenshield. The dwarf next to him is Dwalin, in all of his bald tattooed warrior glory."

Bilbo nodded, and I could see him mouth the names several times. I was actually somewhat impressed, that's an old memory trick.

"Dwalin's older brother is Balin." Bofur said as he pointed to my uncle with the stem of his pipe. "He considers himself the brain of this company, and we can't really disagree. You won't be ignored if you go to him for questions."

Bilbo nodded, he evidently knew that one.

"Behind him are Thorin's sister sons. The older one, the blonde, is Fili. He's the level-headed one, but that's not saying much. The younger one is Kili. Keep an eye on him. He's known for his pranks."

"The one with the bruised cheekbone?"

"That's the one."

He looked slightly confused, and I saw him look between me and the princes. Bofur went on without paying it any mind.

"Dori, Nori and Ori's older brother, is the one with the elaborate braids and manners. Probably the only one, too. Ori is the youngest, par one, on our quest. He's the one with the knits and is quite the scholar."

And the one who's gonna give the dragon a taste of dwarvish iron right up his jacksie.

"He's a nice chap. Oin's the healer with the ear horn. And Gloin is the one with the fierce temper and red hair, and the only one of us with kids."

As far as Bofur knows, of course.

"The female dwarf is Twyla, worst memory in the world, except when it comes to medicine. Bifur's my cousin, had a bit of an ax injury."

"What language is he speaking?"

"Khazdul, one of our greatest kept secrets."

Bilbo looked a bit depressed; he seemed too really like languages. Bofur gave him a sad smile before continuing down the line.

"Bombur is my younger brother, he really enjoys cooking, and will eat you out of house and home. Nori is the one next to you,"

Bilbo startled, he had obviously not seen him ride next to him.

"He is someone who has some experience in your line of work." Bilbo looked a bit ashen when Nori gave him a friendly smile.

"My name is Bofur, and you know Gandalf."

Bilbo shifted.

"And the…person next to him?"

"Hils. Tongue's sharper than Dwalin's ax."

I mentally bowed and preened. I do enjoy a nice complement.

"She seemed polite."

"She can be." Bofur nodded. "If you want information, without polite excuses, or want to know about the land to the north, she would be the one to ask. She's not one to soften the blow." Nori nodded.

Bilbo turned around to give me a frightful look, and I gave him a smile.

"She doesn't take offense easily, and if she does, she takes care of revenge quickly. She won't eat a polite hobbit like yourself."

I joined in the conversation at that point.

"Hobbit meat is a bit too tough for my taste." I rode up on the other side of Bofur. It was lucky we were riding on a large plain and were able to ride four abreast.

The hobbit seemed to take my comment seriously before Bofur started chuckling. And then he blushed.

"Why do you carry a shovel?" He asked after a few minutes of pleasant silence.

"I find shovels quite useful, in more than one way."

"You seem a bit different than the rest of the dwarves."

"It's the lack of beard." Bofur cut in. I gave him a pouty look; that was a bit of a sore subject with me.

Bilbo ignored Nori's laughter of pure lunacy and continued to question me.

"No, that's not it; you're the size of a hobbit lass, maybe smaller."

I pretended to wounded, making Bilbo look rather sheepish.

"I've lost a bit of weight recently."

Bilbo, Nori, and Bofur looked really uncomfortable.

"You might as well explain, lass. He's gonna get wind of it sometime soon." Bofur said quietly.

"I'm not…," I sighed, trying to find a way to explain,"I'm what you'll hear called a 'half-breed'."

Bilbo looked at me like I was a goblin, or an equally hideous creature. I kept talking, trying not to get hurt.

"I really don't understand the term. I'm of two races, not half of one." Bilbo interrupted me before I could go any further.

"You're half dwarf, half human?"

I nodded.

He leaned back in his saddle looking very, very confused.

"But…" He trailed off.

He looked at me for a moment. And then he looked forward with his eyes furrowed. It took him a few minutes to actually ask the question.

"How does that work?" He seemed hesitant. But his question had me shaking with laughter. I got a few glances that sent messages like, "Your crazy" and "Shut up". The latter seemed popular with the front of the column.

"The same as it normally works, I think." I said when I was able to breathe again. Bilbo blushed profusely, sputtering about indecency and the like.

"You are the one that asked."

"I meant do you live as dwarf or a human? And why are you on this quest if you are not fully dwarf? I have heard about you half-breeds, and what I have heard has not been good. Why were you allowed on this quest?"

I took a deep breath before answering.

"I wander most of the time, and most humans and dwarves travel in the same way. However, I keep mostly with dwarven traditions. My father, cousin, and uncle serve Thorin Oakenshield and he has shown himself to be a good king, so I follow him. I am a child of those who were exiled by the dragon, just as Fili, Kili, and Ori are. I was allowed to go on this quest in place of my cousin, who was unable to come. And every group of people is somewhat infamous for one reason or another. I will be the first to admit our predecessors have not given us a good reputation, though. Most of us deserve the reputation that we get, but not all of us. I would ask that you give people the benefit of the doubt before passing judgment, Mr. Baggins."

To my surprise he smiled at me.

"You don't look like an upstanding member of society, if you don't mind me saying so."

"I don't."

"I was under the impression half-breeds were taller than the average dwarf."

"Most of us are. My mother and fraternal uncle were unusually short."

"Do all of you travel?"

"It is rare for us to stay in one place. The only group that does lived near Laketown, before moving to the Blue Mountains some twenty years back. Most of us aren't lucky enough to be taught a trade, and must eat. It's easier to earn money, or steal food without getting caught, if you move from place to place."

"Do the majority take after your dwarven or human side?"

"Depends, it can go either way. Some of us are actually able to blend into a society without anyone being the wiser."

"What about your life spans?"

"That _really _depends. If you're lucky, you might be able to find an elf who could tell you, but we age so strangely most find out their life span the day they die, if they die of old age. The longest I've heard of is four hundred, and the shortest being fifty."

"Do you know how long you will live?"

I tapped my saddle horn for a moment, I knew some of the dwarves were listening in, and this was something I considered somewhat private. But he wasn't trying to pry, and there wasn't a real reason not to tell him.

"I will live around two hundred more years, from what I've been told, though I grew up in a human timeframe. "

"How old are you now?'

"Don't you know not to ask a girl her age?" I pretended to bristle, but he just chuckled at me.

"I'm just over fifty, which is the coming of age for dwarves, though I was full grown at eighteen."

"What age are dwarves and humans fully grown?"

"Dwarves, maybe forty to sixty? I'm not sure. Humans are from thirteen to twenty-one. But it is usually from fifteen to seventeen."

While he pondered his next question, I took a swig of water. My mouth was getting really dry, and he had a lot of questions. The group was mostly silent now, trying to satisfy their own curiosity without seeming interested in half-breeds. Only Thorin was having a murmured conversation with Gandalf, who had ridden to the front when I had joined Bilbo, Bofur, and Nori.

"Were you taught a trade?"

A personal question now, is it?

"I started an apprenticeship when I was fifteen, but I was kicked out or quit, I'm not sure which, at nineteen when my original teacher died. Her replacement was not fond of me, and the feeling was mutual. I left the area soon after. I was weary of, what I considered, maltreatment, and went to get weapon and combat training."

"What was your original trade?"

"I was training to be a dancer."

I could feel the amusement in the air.

"Do you work as a person-at-arms now?"

"I can, I actually consider survival my craft these days. At city gates, I tell them I'm a jack-of-all trade."

"Are you?"

"I have some experience in drawing, writing, reading, languages, mathematics, carpentry, carving, waitressing, mining, fishing, entertaining, farm labor, and combat. I am missing a few skills and trades, but I think that's close enough to count."

"I thought dwarves were smiths?"

"Most dwarves have some skill at smithing, and I was raised knowing the very, very basics, but I am a bit small. I make little things, not much of use. I am a bit unusual; most half-breeds don't even know the basics of any trade."

"How do you know the basics?"

"My da, uncle, and cousin taught me."

"Was your father the dwarf?"

That's an odd way of putting it.

"My father was _a _dwarf."

"Is it considered improper for a half-breed to learn a trade?"

How do I put this without insulting the entire dwarven race?

"It is rare, in fact I've never heard of it, to have a dwarf mother and a human father. We usually have a dwarven father and a human mother."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows, as if to say, _why is this important?_

"Every now and then you get a love match. A couple that truly is willing to give up everything to be together, but most of the time half-breeds are the results of one night stands and rape."

I saw every almost every back stiffen.

"The problem is, the fathers rarely stick around, if ever. I'm pretty sure some dwarves have no clue they have a half-breed son or daughter, or they don't care. The mothers are then shunned by their neighbors and family for being pregnant (If they are single, and it is rare that they aren't, because it is the ultimate insult in their society for a dwarf to take liberties of another male's wife), and then when the baby is born, having relations with a dwarf. Most half-breeds don't live that long, but those who do are shunned as well. There have been cases where both the mother and child are murdered. But most of the time a half-breed will lose their mother early. And every so often they might be raised by a relative. And most of the time the relative sees them as free labor. It is very hard to find an apprenticeship when you are starving, shunned, and have no parents to pay for your education, or even make arrangements for you. Those of us who make it to childhood quickly learn to fend for ourselves."

Bilbo dry swallowed, looking desperate for something to say.

"But your parents were a love match?"

"No, I was the result of a one-night stand. My father and mother were in a village when it was attacked, and both barely escaped with their lives. I think that was a moment of weakness for them; I'm assuming they were just trying to celebrate being alive. But my dad left and came back a month later to my extremely hysterical mother. He bought a house and a smithy in the village and looked after my mother and me with my mother's sister and my father's brother and cousin until he was called away by King Thror to regain Moria when I was young. When he came back he found my mother and aunt married. He stayed and looked after me until I got the apprenticeship in a nearby dwarf settlement, which he paid for, when I was fifteen."

Bilbo looked at me, horrified.

"I was very, _very _lucky." I emphasized.

"Do you see your father at all anymore?"

I nodded, smiling.

"What happened to your mother?"

"She and my stepfather, though he would have probably popped an artery if he heard me say that, made each other miserable for about thirty years, until his death. She is living with my step-siblings and their children these days. She will probably live to see a hundred; she's gotten spiteful in her old age."

"No half siblings?"

"Twin sisters, one fell into a river, the other was killed by orcs, when I was seven and sixteen, respectively."

"I'm sorry." Bilbo said. "What were their names?"

"Singer and Ripple was what I called them."

"How old were they?"

"One and a half, and eleven."

Bilbo's questions had finally dried up.

*0*

Everyone, but Twyla and Bofur, walked on eggshells around me the rest of the day, but I was too tired to care. We spent the night on a rocky cliff, with everyone squished together. And I fell asleep to my uncle's voice telling about the day a prince became a king, wrapped in blankets and holding an old stuffed bear to my heart.


End file.
